The Artist
by Chicago Brown
Summary: Kevin meets a mysterious woman on an elevator, and soon discovers she is more similar to himself then he could have possibly imagined. My first ever fanfic! Please be kind! I'm sorry, I suck at summaries.


**Turpentine**

Kevin stepped into the elevator. It had been a long day. The Cardinal had ordered him to follow and, in his own words, _retire_ some priest who had been accusing him of perversity. The old man had not looked surprised when Kevin killed him, but then, if you upset the most powerful man in Sin City, an untimely death is going to be expected.

Kevin had felt a small twinge of guilt about this.

He had been bought up in a God fearing family, hell he practically knew the Bible word for word. The priest had simply been an honest man, trying to stop the corruption that had long ago driven Christ out of the religious hierarchy.

However, he was also exactly the same kind of priest who had told Kevin he was a sinner, a freak, that he should seek repentance and beg for forgiveness. To be honest, the only person who had supported and understood him was the Cardinal. The perverted and corrupt Cardinal. Go figure.

Still, he had made it quick.

He felt the familiar little jolt as the doors closed and the elevator started to travel upwards. He checked his watch, it was past two. Not that it really mattered, Kevin was a night person anyway.

The Cardinal had asked him to stay the night at the manor, he had really paranoid lately, the priest had inspired quite a few would-be vigilantes to take action. Then again, the Cardinal asked him to stay over about once a fortnight, so this wasn't exactly unusual.

Kevin had his own room right on the top floor, which he had entirely to himself. For some reason, Kevin had no idea why, no one wanted to sleep on the same floor as him.

Tonight he had been patrolling the manor, keeping watch for any heroes who had some how made it past the guards. There were none, and eventually, more out of boredom then actual tiredness, he had decided to just go to his room and read a little.

The elevator shuddered and stopped. Kevin glanced up. Third floor. Odd, this building had seventeen. Maybe there was a malfunction, and he would have to spend the night in a five by five metal box.

Then the doors opened to reveal a young woman. She stepped into the box without so much as looking at him, and pressed the button for eighth floor.

As she was standing with her back to him, Kevin took the opportunity to examine her.

She was maybe in her early twenties, medium height. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, the escaping locks framing her face. She was quite slender, but muscular from what Kevin could see. From what he had seen of her face, he thought she was quite pretty, rounded cheekbones, full lips and almond shaped brown eyes. She was dressed in jeans and a loose purple top that was covered in stains. She was carrying a very heavy looking bag over one shoulder. Her outfit and the smell of turpentine she gave off said to him…artist, painter, decorator maybe.

Then again, she could be a vigilante who had hidden in the manor some how, and was now going to take her chances with the Cardinal while everyone else was asleep. Well, almost everyone.

But, Kevin thought, she wouldn't have been able to sneak in, the manor's been in virtual lock-down for the past two days, and anyway, someone bent on killing the Cardinal would not get into an elevator with his personal assassin.

He looked down at her left hand. Her nails were cut short and had some brown stuff under them, and her palm was faintly multicoloured. Yes, definitely an artist of some kind.

There was something off about her though. It wasn't that she was using the elevator in the middle of the night, the manor employed all sorts. No, it was something else. Something strange, and yet familiar. Something about her smell, Kevin couldn't quite place it.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, unusual for him, that the box had shuddered and stopped for a second time, and he almost jumped when the doors opened and the artist got off. Almost.

Kevin just had time to see her saunter down the hall on the eighth floor, before the doors closed again and he was once again on his way.

Maybe she was some kind of specialised hooker from Old Town, doing a midnight visit. Then Kevin's thoughts went back to her hand.

Her nails were cut short, hookers always kept theirs long in case of a nasty client.

Her nails…There was some kind of gunk under them, paint, Kevin had thought. But no, that smell…

Then it clicked. Of course, it was masked by the turpentine and the paint, but that smell, that stuff under her nails.

Kevin could recognise it anywhere. Human blood. She had blood under her nails, and he was willing to bet anything it wasn't hers.

Then the horrible realisation dawned. The Cardinal slept on the eighth floor.

Fuck.


End file.
